


Working Conditions

by thecarlysutra



Category: Thunderheart (1992)
Genre: Gen, In-Laws, M/M, Napping, Overworking, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-12
Updated: 2010-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/pseuds/thecarlysutra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crow Horse has had too much coffee and there's a Fed asleep on his couch, but somehow everything's working out pretty okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working Conditions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myhappyface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhappyface/gifts).



  
Crow Horse had lost count of what pot of coffee he was on. Probably he should have been keeping track; everything got lethal if you had enough of it. Wouldn’t that be stupid, your heart exploding from too much caffeine? What a stupid way to die; like a white guy, working himself to death. He’d never live it down, even dead.

Ray’d been on less than six months, and they’d needed an extra man bad; with the GOONs gone, they were thinner than usual. Ray had fit in much better than Crow Horse had expected; all his Fed training and pricey education, and he had gone to writing speeding tickets and breaking up domestics without so much as a short word. And having a Fed liaison cut down a bunch on the amount of time Crow Horse had to spend getting talked down to by _Wasi’chu_ men in expensive suits. But it also meant that the tribal PD’s caseload had more than tripled, what with all the Major Crimes Act shit they were no longer barred from.

Double-edged sword, or what have you. Still, Crow Horse wouldn’t have changed it. It was gonna be a step forward in a big way; they just needed to get settled. Birth was always painful. Once they got used to it, maybe hired a couple new people on, they’d have something really good.

Course, it had been a trial getting the money from the tribal council to bring Ray on, and a lot of Crow Horse’s success had had to do with Ray helping to save the rez, cleaning up the water and driving off Coutelle. That was a card that couldn’t be played again, so they were probably gonna be short a while, unless some other idealistic upstart came up and, dunno, scared off the BIA boys and got gold to rain from the skies. Crow Horse’d had to give George and Terry a break after four days of doubles, but luckily Ray was competitive as hell, especially when it came to Crow Horse, so he wasn’t taking a break until Crow Horse did. It had been a slow afternoon, but it was payday, so it was gonna be bad in the evening; Ray was currently between calls, catching a minute of sleep on the couch by Crow Horse’s desk while Crow Horse tried to eat through some of the paperwork that wouldn’t quit.

Crow Horse’s senses were dull with too much caffeine and too little sleep, and he missed hearing the truck pull up, but he heard the boots on the worn tile before they rounded the corner into his office.

“Hey, Pop.”

Crow Horse’s dad stopped a foot from his son’s desk, surveyed the scene. He was holding a large, covered dish.

“Hey,” Crow Horse’s dad said. “You know you got a half-breed on your couch?”

“Yeah. We been running pretty thin.”

“Ayeh, your ma said. She had me bring you some chili.” Crow Horse’s dad set the dish on Crow Horse’s desk. “Should be enough for you and your half-breed. She was afraid you’d work too much, forget to eat right. You know how women worry.”

Crow Horse stood, placed a hand on the warm dish. “Thanks.”

Crow Horse’s dad hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. He eyed Ray.

“How’s that working out?”

“Ayeh, real good. It’s nice to not have to worry about the Feds comin’ in here, mucking up my works.”

Pop’s thin mouth twisted. “Ain’t what I meant.”

“Oh, right.”

Crow Horse glanced over at Ray, his body limp with sleep. Last night, Crow Horse had told him to go home; he’d catch up after he got the paperwork situation under control. Ray had left, cruiser growling out into the still night. He was the last one; George’d gone out on his last call, and the station was oddly quiet. Until fifteen minutes later, when Crow Horse’d heard Ray’s cruiser roll back up. Ray brought in donuts and yet more coffee, and then lounged in the chair opposite, feet up on Crow Horse’s desk, mulling over a donut and just sitting quietly until Crow Horse had been ready to go.

“Yeah,” Crow Horse said. “Real good.”  



End file.
